


Don't Leave Me Now

by dylovan



Category: The Who, classic rock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylovan/pseuds/dylovan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sort of how I view keith and john's relationship. it gets REALLY SAD at the end so yeah warning. Sorry for the weird formatting, I typed it like that and was too lazy to go back and change it. I actually like this one, and it's named after the Pink Floyd song. Crossposted to wholigan-are-you.tumblr.com. Reviews or anything appreciated :></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave Me Now

—-  
The drummer looked nervously up at the bassist as they both entered the pub, seeking refuge from the rainy evening chill. The drummer was trailing behind the bassist, who was striding confidently into the building as if he’d done so a hundred times before, which might’ve been accurate, actually.  
The bassist, a tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired man with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, perched on a stool at the bar and ordered a pint. After some trepidation, the drummer, who had deep brown eyes and hair dyed a strange-looking ginger and who looked positively diminutive beside the older man’s towering frame, hopped into a seat beside him and ordered a beer as well.  
The beers arrived. They both sat there for a while, silently sipping and sizing each other up.  
"So." said the bassist. "Your name was…Keith, am I correct?" Although he was really putting on a bit of an indifferent act. He would never forget anything about the hyperactive little ginger git, not after he’d shown up earlier today and completely crashed the auditions they’d been having for their band. He was unforgettable.  
"Yep, Keith John Moon." said the younger man, who didn’t really look a day over 17.  
"I’m John." said the bassist.  
"John who?" said Keith. His leg was jiggling up and down with pent-up energy.  
"Uh, Entwistle. Although I’ve been thinking of changing it." said John.  
"I think Entwistle’s good. You’re a terrific bassist! Where did you learn to play like that?"  
"Uh, dunno." John squinted and rubbed his nose. "Just learned, I suppose. Where’d you learn to…" Drum wasn’t really the correct word for what Keith’d been doing. It was more like ‘attacking the drum kit with wild abandon and screaming at the top of your lungs, breaking three drumsticks in two minutes.’ But that was a really long phase, so John settled for, “…do that?”  
"Places ‘n stuff. I took lessons for a while."  
John downed half his beer in a gulp. Keith stuck his tongue in his and covered up a grimace—it was stronger than what he was used to, and he didn’t really like the stinging. But he hid it well.  
John looked over. The bar lights were flickery and dim and they threw the mountains and valleys of the bassist’s face into deep, dramatic chiaroscuro.  
"Rehearsal’s at 9 AM tomorrow at our friend’s apartment here…" John scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and stuffed it into Keith’s hand… "and we’re getting ready for our show at the Speakeasy next week. Show up. We’ll have your equipment." His voice was curt and Keith felt like he’d given a talk like this a thousand times, to a thousand different drummers. "Don’t be late or we’ll fire ya, this is a serious band." He went to get up.  
But he felt a warm little hand on his arm, and he looked down with surprise. Keith was staring up into his eyes.  
"Don’t leave, John."  
"Oh." John fell back onto his stool. "Why not?"  
"We could probably have fun together." said Keith. "Have a couple more drinks, on me. Why not?"  
"Oh, that sounds nice." John smiled, showing crooked teeth. "I’ve got nowhere to be…Sure."  
Keith raised his hand. “Hey, bartender, a couple more over here if you please…”  
—-  
Recording their first album was harder than Keith had thought. They had to do at least seven different takes for one stupid song—he’d counted, being unable to find anything more interesting to do. Worst of all, no one seemed to appreciate that he just wanted to goof off. Keith had counted more things, too: Pete had yelled at him sixteen times and Roger had punched him twice, slapped him once, and bit his arm three times (the fact that Keith had been trying to choke Roger at the moment was purely incidental).  
John was the only one who seemed to like him. Every so often, when Roger and/or Pete got intolerable, the stoic bassist would look across the sea of discarded instruments and sound-proof barriers to raise an eyebrow. This never failed to make Keith giggle and it made everything seem alright.  
When they were finally allowed to take a break, Keith immediately stormed out of the stupid studio.  
He stalked away pointlessly and tossed himself onto a park bench, lighting a fag. Few things brought his upbeat mood down, but being trapped in a musty old building for hours, and being forced into creativity with two guys who seemed to hate his guts, was one of them.  
A shadow was cast over him. He looked up to see John looking over him, blocking out the sun and looking quite malicious.  
“‘Ullo,” he said, breaking the sinister appearance immediately.  
"Oh, Jun!" Keith jumped to his feet. "Thank heavens you’re here! I hate recording! Why do Pete and Roger hate me so much??"  
John shrugged. “It’s just their way of showing love. They’re funny like that. They’re assholes to everyone but they don’t really mean it. And trust me, we all hate recording. It’s stressful for everyone involved.”  
"Ugh, I know. Wanna go get a drink?"  
Keith’s drinking had progressed a surprising amount over the year or two John’d known him. The drummer found himself actually liking the taste of alcohol.  
They found the nearest pub and sat down together with their drinks. They got some onion rings to share, too.  
"Hate stupid Roger." Keith was grumbling. "Hate stupid Pete."  
"Oh, cheer up, Moonie." said John. "We’ll be done in a short while. Then we can go home." The two were already sharing an apartment together.  
"Yeah." Keith smiled. "Let’s buy some ice cream and watch The Flintstones together! This is gonna be such a fun time!"  
They finished eating and drinking before they actually needed to be in the studio, so they went and strolled around downtown for a while. They made fun of everyone who passed them in low tones.  
"Ooh, lookit me." John whispered in a mocking tone as a teenaged boy hurried past. "Lookit me with my duck’s ass hair and my leather jacket…teddy boy was over years ago, ya idiot."  
Keith giggled. “Ooh! I get the next one…” A middle-aged man passed next. “I’m just coming home from the ugly shirt and bad comb-over convention, but I seem to have caught this dreadful virus that makes me pull my socks up to my thighs on the way home.”  
John sputtered out a laugh. “Hey, lookit this bird up here. Looks like she needs help with her lipstick. The secret tip: it’s supposed to go on your lips, not your teeth. That’s why it’s called lipstick.”  
Keith laughed obnoxiously loud. The woman glared at him, but neither of them really cared. “Oh, John, I love you! Oh my god, look at that woman who has like eight kids after her. Why would you have eight kids? It’s so stupid—”  
He was interrupted mid-sentence by John kissing him full on the lips. Keith’s eyes went wide with surprise. John’s hand strayed to Keith’s jaw. The kiss lasted a few seconds, John’s crooked teeth gently scraping Keith’s skin.  
John broke the kiss and looked at Keith. As soon as he saw the shock in the drummer’s eyes, his own blue-grey eyes welled up with hurt and he took a step back, then broke into a run, away from Keith, away from everything.  
Keith stared at him a bit, but then broke into a run after the bassist. “John! Wait! Don’t leave, Johnny!”  
He cornered him in an alley. John looked furious. His teeth gritted and stray tears ran down his flushed cheeks.  
"John." Keith was serious for a moment. "Um, what was that?"  
John looked agonized. His fists clenched. “Nothing, I’m sorry! Just some stupid…dumb…fuck, I dunno what came over me. Stupid idea. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m an idiot. I should just leave.” He attempted to dart away from Keith.  
"Jun!" Keith caught John’s sleeve and dragged him back. "Don’t leave. I have to tell you something!"  
John faced Keith, his eyes thunderheads. “What?” he said, his voice thick with salt tears. “What a fucking stupid faggot I am? I already know that. Leave me alone.” He pulled away.  
But Keith held him tight. “No! Something very important.”  
"What!" John growled. "Get it over with!"  
"Um…"  
Keith leaned forward and kissed John on the mouth. He tangled his fingers in John’s too-long hair and pulled him down so he could angle their lips together. To John, the kiss was sweet and cathartic and perfect—everything he’d imagined, and oh he had imagined it, time after time, and this soared over his expectations. Keith’s lips were hot and soft and firm and he kissed John delicately yet energetically, biting his full lower lip gently.  
Keith finally moved away, but he still had his hands on John’s shoulders. His eyes were huge.  
"John, was that okay?" His voice held a high tremor. "I haven’t had a lot of practice kissing."  
Out of nowhere, John burst into tears. Keith was startled. He held his friend and stroked his back, begging to be told what was the matter.  
"Jun? Did I do it wrong? Sorry…"  
"No." John hiccuped and wiped his face. "God, I’m a fucking mess—No, it’s just, you’re so…" His gaze trailed over Keith’s face, concentrating on his lips. "So fucking perfect. Everything I want. I can’t…I don’t know how to put this into words, but, uh, I like you. A lot. You’re brilliant and I want to be with you for a very long time."  
Keith blushed. “Oh, John!” He fell into John’s strong arms and giggled. He was breathless, miles above the clouds. “I think I feel the same. I think I love you.”  
He’d used those three words a lot with John before, but they seemed to be laden with so much meaning now that they shared this secret. Keith couldn’t stop giggling as they walked to the studio together. John couldn’t stop staring at Keith, his wonderful drummer boy.  
They shared one more kiss near the studio. Keith whispered the three words and John whispered them back, in hushed tones fit for a pagan ritual.  
And the next twenty-one times Pete yelled at Keith, Keith didn’t even have to look over at John to know he’d be there, comforting and steady.  
It was bliss.  
—-  
Bedroom, the dimensions somewhere between cosy and cramped. Blue smoke in the air. Hushed giggles and plotting.  
"We’re really doing this?"  
"Yeah, John! It’ll be great. You’ll like it."  
"You sure, Moonie? I don’t want to, like, hurt you."  
"Oh, you won’t! Trust me!"  
Clothes being torn off and thrown to shag carpet. More pot smoke. Kisses and giggles, eventually more kisses and fewer giggles. Skin against soft skin, crooked teeth on collarbone, biting, bruising. A high-pitched moan. Frantic movement, skin against heat and hardness.  
"Ah, John!…Please, I think we should do it now."  
"Okay. If you’re sure."  
"Here, you’ll need this."  
"…?"  
"Lube. So, uh, nothing…rips."  
"Keith, I don’t wanna hurt you!"  
"You won’t! Trust me!"  
"Alright…"  
"…Oh, that feels weird! Ew!"  
"Should I stop??"  
"No! Keep going. Oh, here, let me rub some of that on you."  
"Fuck! Keith!"  
"Yeah, do that."  
"Umm, what if I hurt you?"  
"JOHN!"  
"Okay, okay! Um…"  
Hard penetration and moaning. Intense pain, fading to uncomfortable roughness. Movements reluctant at first, slowly becoming desperate.  
"Ah, ah, fuck, Keith—FUCKthat’sgood!"  
"…"  
"Fuck, fuck, so tight, so—ahhh…mm…"  
"……"  
"Fuck…Keith, you f-feeling anything yet?"  
"Um. I think you might’ve hit it a couple times."  
"Ohh. Sorry."  
"No, don’t be sorry, Jun! It’s good, I like it. Keep going!"  
"…oh, oh, fuck!"  
Hot tightness spreading and channelling out—no, exploding out. Fireworks blossoming. Panting, collapsing, hitting sheets. Searching for a joint, then remembering something else.  
"Oh, Keith?"  
"Oh. Hi."  
"Um, sorry about that. It’s just—I can’t really, like, control myself that good."  
"…"  
"Sorry?"  
"Aw, it’s okay, John. You did good. I’ll finish myself."  
"Want me to—?"  
"No, it’s okay, you don’t have to…"  
"Oh. Okay."  
Departing. Small hand clutching wrist and reeling in its catch. Puppy-dog eyes.  
"Don’t leave, John."  
"…"  
"It’s okay. You can help me finish and then we can cuddle! And, after all, we’ve got our whole lives to practice this, haven’t we?"  
"Yeah, Keith. That’s true."  
Every story needs an end, and this one is warmth and cuddling and spooning and soft kisses. Leaving is definitely not on the agenda.  
—-  
"John? I been thinking…"  
John looked over at Keith. They were on a jet bound for America, the first day of a new tour. Keith was wearing some ridiculous paisley thing with ruffles on the sleeves and a cravat, and pink crushed velvet bellbottoms. John wore black. A spider pendant dangled on his broad chest, where the buttons on his shirt were pulled nearly to popping off.  
"Wot?" said John. He took a drink out of one of the tiny liquor bottles the stewardess had given him.  
"Uh, we’ve both got wives and stuff, right?"  
"Yep." John said. "And?"  
"So…are we still, like, a thing?"  
John squinted and rubbed his nose, the contemplative gesture Keith’d grown to know well.  
"Don’t see why not." he said. "I mean, we’re best friends, and, um, other things too. We shouldn’t stop just ‘cos of wives."  
"Are you sure it’s not cheating?…"  
"No, it’s not!" John said. "I mean, you could say we’re cheating by fucking our wives just as easily."  
"Okay, have fun explaining that one to Alison."  
John rolled his eyes. “Look, I know our…arrangement is a bit odd, but I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t feel absolutely one hundred percent right. I’m not an asshole.”  
"Okay." Keith was satisfied. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then kissed John on the tip of his pointed nose.  
"Keith…" John murmured. "In public?"  
"Yeah." Another sloppy kiss. Keith was rather drunk.  
Not that John minded. The drummer leaned into his lap and kissed his neck.  
"I’m gonna make you cum so hard when we get to the hotel room." Keith whispered.  
"Keith, no…"  
"Yeah. I want you inside me, Jun. That big dick inside me."  
"Keith! We’re on a plane!" John shifted uncomfortably.  
But by the end of their trip, Keith had John rock-hard. The drummer smirked as John pulled his jacket down to try and cover his crotch when they went down the plane aisle.  
They found their hotel room and dropped their luggage on the beds. Keith flopped over onto the bed. He dialed room service and ordered some champagne and caviar. Stuff they couldn’t really afford, and that would be most likely sprayed all over the hotel room walls by the end of the night.  
John opened the door and went to leave. The show was tomorrow and they had rehearsal scheduled for tonight.  
"Don’t leave! John!"  
John turned and smiled. “Wot, Keith?”  
Keith walked unsteadily over to him. “I…I thought I promised you something, Junny.” He tried to do a sexy pose, leaning against the wall and stretching to show his tanned stomach. He fell over, but John was turned on anyway.  
"Keith, I’ve gotta do rehearsals."  
"No, you’re gonna stay here, and we’ll have some fun." Keith licked his lips. He popped the cork off a champagne bottle and white foam gushed out over his hands. He licked some of it up while staring into John’s eyes.  
Subtle, John thought.  
"Oh…"  
"Fuck, c’mon, Ox!" Keith said. "We’re the best rhythm section in the best band in the whole entire universe, probably! We need fucking practice like Pete Townshend needs nose augmentation surgery! Stay here!"  
John smiled and finally closed the door. “Okay. C’mere, Moonie…”  
And that night, all of Keith’s smutty drunken promises came true, and no rehearsal was done.  
—-  
The rhythm section rushed into the limo, through a billowing ocean of people; roadies, groupies, paparazzi, someone’s wife.  
The car roared away onto dark American highways. Keith wouldn’t stop giggling. John wouldn’t stop blushing.  
They eventually calmed down a bit. Keith laid his head down on John’s lap. They were always doing little things like that, little touches or murmurs, gestures of affection. People saw it all, of course, but they didn’t suspect what really went on between the two.  
But tonight…  
"Kissing me!" John finally said. "On stage! In front of, like, kajillions of people! What were you thinking?"  
"I dunno." Keith laughed. "You just looked like ya needed a kiss."  
"Be that as it may, I hardly think it’s an appropriate place to kiss anyone."  
"I’m not hiding my love for you away, John." said Keith. "When I love someone the whole world’s gotta know."  
He cuddled into John. But John pushed him away.  
"What?" Keith suddenly looked frightened.  
“Uh, I wanna talk to you about something.” John muttered. “I think we’ve been getting too close.”  
"Wha—"  
"No, Keith, hear me out." John snapped. "If you keep acting like this, hugging and kissing me in public, someone’s going to suspect something!"  
Keith’s eyes filled with tears and his mouth trembled. “Jun…”  
"It has to be done. Why are you so…so affectionate all the time?"  
"I d-dunno." Keith sniffled.  
"Well, stop it."  
John looked away. But when he looked back, Keith was still glaring accusatorially up at him.  
"John?" he whispered.  
"What?" John sighed.  
"…Please don’t leave me, Jun." Keith said tearily. "I’ll change. I’ll do anything. Just…don’t leave me."  
Something inside John snapped at Keith’s big-eyed gaze. He grabbed the drummer in his arms and rocked him, shushing him quietly.  
"Please, Keith, please." he said. "I didn’t mean it. I promise. Kiss me all you want, please…"  
"John…" Keith wiped his nose. John helped him.  
"Yes, baby?"  
It was the first time he’d called Keith “baby,” actually. Keith looked up at the unfamiliar word.  
"John, I don’t want to make you feel bad about me."  
Fuck, John berated himself, fuck! You idiot! You hurt him, can’t you see that?  
"Fuck," he whispered aloud. He cradled Keith close and kissed him all over. "Don’t change, Moonie. I love you. My Mooniekin." More kisses. Keith began returning them. "I love it when you kiss me. I did like it on stage tonight."  
"Thank you, Johnny." Keith was acting all shy and whimpery. John usually didn’t go for that kind of stuff, but now he loved it. God, he could hold Keith forever.  
They cuddled and kissed the whole way to the hotel, despite the presence of the driver. It felt so good to John, like making love. He didn’t kiss Keith nearly enough. But he was making up for lost time right now.  
John said “I love you” countless times over the car ride. He didn’t notice that Keith didn’t return it once.  
—-  
"I killed him."  
The house was dark and it smelled bad. There was dust and broken glass and unidentifiable bits of food on the floor. John was sitting on the bed beside Keith, at a loss for words.  
John’s lover stared up at the ceiling with empty glass eyes. He took another drink of cognac from the bottle. It spilled down his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care much. By the smell of it, he’d been wearing the shirt for a few days, anyway.  
"I fucking killed him." Keith said more clearly. "I’m a murderer."  
John shook his head. “No.”  
"Yes I am! I killed him! I killed an innocent man!" The bottle was drained and it shattered to pieces at John’s feet.  
"No! Keith, listen to me!"  
The drummer hadn’t taken a shower or shaved in days. He was a mess and his eyes were red and swollen and, John realized, dead.  
"I deserve to die." Keith said.  
"No, you don’t!"  
"Yes I DO!" Keith screamed suddenly, scaring John and breathing alcohol fumes in his face. "I’m a murderer!"  
"Keith…" John grabbed Keith’s arms. "Listen to me! It was an accident! You were being mobbed and you wanted to protect your wife and you didn’t know what to do! It could’ve happened to anyone! You’re not a murderer."  
Keith went silent. He stared at the closed Venetian blinds over the window. He started slowly rocking back and forth in John’s grasp.  
"I should be dead." he whispered. "Not him. I should be dead…"  
"Keith. No."  
"I tried." He pressed his face into John’s chest. "I swallowed a whole bottle of pills and they didn’t work. Pete called the hospital and they pumped my stomach."  
This is ridiculous, John thought. He couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. The only thing that came from his mouth was “But…”  
"I want to fucking die. I’m gonna suffer in Hell for what I’ve done. Please, John." He stared up into John’s eyes.  
"Please what?…"  
"Please kill me. I have to die. I can’t do this. I’m such a cunt to everyone, my wife and everyone. I killed a man!" he screamed. "I fucking killed him! Kill me!" Keith grabbed a bottle and smashed it on the table. Shards of glass exploded out and shredded the skin on his right hand. Blood beaded from the myriad cuts and dropped down Keith’s slim wrist. He stared at it dully.  
John pulled him up close, wrapping him in his arms. He pinned him to the bed.  
"Keith…I love you. You don’t deserve to die, you’ve got so much to live for."  
"Like what?" Keith hiccuped. "My wife hates me. My kid doesn’t even know me. I’ve got a worldwide reputation as a complete drunken idiot and no one can stand me. I-I killed—"  
"Shut up!" John slapped Keith across the face, making him stare up in shock. "Keith, you’ve got me to live for! I want you…I know I’m so fucking selfish but I want you all for myself, I don’t want you to die or burn in hell and all that shit. God, I love you so hard, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You mean so much to me."  
"No I don’t. You don’t know the real me." Keith’s stare had returned to the ceiling.  
"Yes I do. I know you better than you know yourself. And I love you, every inch of you, even the bits you hate. You’re perfect to me, and I need you."  
He buried his face in Keith’s chest and shed tears into him. Keith cried too. He trailed the fingers of his unharmed hand through John’s hair.  
"God. I love you." John whispered.  
Keith sobbed. “Don’t leave me, John.”  
"I won’t. Never ever ever."  
"John…"  
"Anything, Keith."  
"Please don’t leave me."  
They lay there for a while, not moving. Eventually John picked Keith up and carried him to the bathroom to clean out all the cuts. After, he pushed Keith into the shower and washed him up, then put cleaned clothes on him. He cooked lunch and Keith sat at the table, watching. He cleaned up a bit while Keith ate.  
After that, he held Keith close in bed again. Keith’s eyes blinked sleepily and he yawned. He hadn’t really slept in probably a few days, and it seemed to catch up all of a sudden.  
John watched Keith fall asleep in his arms, all the love that the bassist could never find words to express shining through in his eyes. Keith’s eyelashes fluttered shut and John got a weird thought—*wonder if this is what he’ll look like when he dies*. He pushed the thought out of his mind immediately, a bit frightened at what his subconscious came up with.  
Keith’s lips parted slightly in his sleep and he unconsciously cuddled further into John. His eyebrows were pulled down in frustration. John kissed Keith’s forehead and the little crinkles on the insides of his thick dark eyebrows disappeared.  
He looked so peaceful. He was still squirming and twitching occasionally, but he was comparatively still. John took the opportunity to gaze at his face, taking it all in like it was his first time.  
God, John realized. He’s beautiful. He really is.  
Keith’s chubby little hand curled around John’s thumb. It was an oddly childish movement, but John considered it adorable.  
He kissed Keith’s cheek one more time.  
He didn’t know what state Keith was going to be in when he awoke, but now he was quiet. John decided to live in the moment. You couldn’t really live any other way with Keith.  
—-  
It might’ve been an odd way for anyone else to awaken, but in a hospital bed, with a nurse standing over him and asking if he was okay, with no memory of last night and a diabolical hangover, was perfectly normal for Keith.  
He sat up a bit and yawned dizzily. He answered the nurse’s questions politely and watched him check things off on his clipboard.  
"Alright, everything is in order here, Mr Moon." said the nurse. "We’ll be holding you for observation for a little while, but I don’t think there’s any trouble."  
"Thank you very much…" Keith strained to read the nurse’s name tag…"Daniel. Would you get me a glass of water, if you please?"  
"Sure thing. Just a moment." Daniel hurried off.  
Keith leaned back onto the bed and yawned, wincing. God. He needed a drink, bad.  
When he opened his eyes again John was standing over him.  
Keith jumped. “God, John! Don’t do that! How long’ve you been standing there?”  
"I just got here." John said. "I wanted to talk to you about something." He sat down on a chair beside the bed and frowned.  
"Oh. What? Did you bring me any champagne?"  
"No. Um, I just wanted to know…how long are you gonna keep doing this?"  
"Doing wot?"  
"Uh, this." John gestured at everything around him. "I mean, you get drunk starting when you wake up, and you pass out and go to hospital, like, three times a week. I don’t know how long you’re gonna be able to keep this up."  
"Hey, what are you getting at?" Keith said.  
"I’m…ugh, Keith, you can be so stupid sometimes, you know that? You’ve got a problem!"  
"No, I don’t!" Keith got to his feet. "I’m perfectly fine, I can stop drinking any time I want."  
"Stop, then."  
"Uh, maybe tomorrow." Keith ran his hands through his hair.  
John rolled his eyes. “Keith…”  
"John?"  
"Why do you do this?" John said. "You’re hurting yourself, and me. There’s no point to any of it. ."  
"But…" Keith said. "How does it hurt you, Jun?"  
"How do I put this…" John sighed and rubbed his temples. "Every single time you pass out from drinking until you can’t even breathe, I’m afraid…afraid something could happen to you. And I can’t handle it any more. I dunno what I’m gonna do."  
"John!" Keith’s eyes were tearing up. "John, I didn’t know you felt like that."  
"Well, I do. And I know you by now. I know you’re gonna apologize and weep and it’ll all be very emotional and shit, but nothing’s gonna change. And I can’t deal with that!"  
"No! John, I can change, I promise!" Keith collided with John and pushed his face into his chest, his face contorting into an agonized grimace. "Please, John."  
"Keith, I don’t think I can…be with you any more."  
Keith wailed.  
"No! It’s not you." John said hurriedly. "It’s just…I don’t want to get close to you." Keith cried louder. John instinctively pulled him in closer and soothed him. "No, that came out wrong, shit…Look, I can’t be close to you any more. I don’t want you to do something stupid and hurt me…it’s for the best."  
"Junny, no!" Keith moaned. "Please! I love you!"  
"I know." John whispered. "I love you too. That’s why I’m doing this. I don’t want this to end badly." He tried to pry Keith off.  
Keith stared up. “John, please, don’t leave me.”  
"Sorry, Keith."  
John hurried out, afraid he was going to start crying. His fear came true on the walk to the car. He swallowed back the tears, and they stung in his throat. He slammed the car door shut and rested his head on his hands.  
God, he thought.  
Was that the wrong thing to do?  
Fuck, I can’t keep living like this. He hurts himself and it hurts me so bad and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. I wish he’d learn. But he won’t.  
Fuck, it hurts…  
He ran his fingers through his long black hair and pulled it, hard, hoping the pain would distract him. It didn’t work. He bit down on his lip to block a sob coming out. It came out anyway, and he made a quiet moan, the sound of a man having his heart ripped in two.  
"Fuck." he whispered. "Fuck, Keith, I don’t know what to do."  
—-  
John sat on the edge of the twin bed in the hotel room and flicked through television channels. He took a drink of whiskey and frowned at the deplorable contents of daytime television.  
Half of him wanted to go out and have a drink with whatever roadies he could find, but the other half was in a quiet, sullen mood. Sometimes John just didn’t feel like talking to people. He had a lot of patience, but right now he needed to recharge his batteries.  
He lit a cigarette. Smoke curled to the dark mildewed ceiling. He couldn’t imagine that the nightlife in northern Wisconsin was very good, anyway, he told himself.  
He turned to some mindless sitcom and leaned back against the pillow, his large frame looking ludicrously oversized for the little worn-out mattress. His fingers traced absently on the remote control buttons.  
He was tired and grumpy, but also restless. He wondered if anyone in the hotel would have any coke. He figured that doing a couple lines would do him some good, put him out of this stupid mood.  
He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, though. He stared up at the ceiling and inhaled half the cigarette in one drag.  
He closed his eyes. The sound of occasional traffic rushed in from the open window. The curtains billowed, sparse rain spitting in. His bed was next to the window and he felt raindrops so fine as to be nearly mist landing softly on his lips. The hotel room was in a large city and it smelled like it. John had always found that city smell reassuring. It was like gasoline and smoke and sweat and fried food and something else, something he could never place. Maybe it was the undefinable almost-life of the city itself. He ruminated over the thought and realized that it was quite poetic.  
He let out a deep breath, the wind pulling the tendrils of smoke out the window. A spider crawled out of a crack in the ceiling. He stared outside at the murky sky and the glow of neon lights.  
Someone opened the door, very quietly. The door let out a long, tortured creak. John whipped around to face it, a snarl on his pale face. He’d just begun to relax. Who was bothering him at this hour??  
…Keith was bothering him at this hour, apparently. He had a suspiciously innocent look on his face and he held something behind his back. He looked up to make eye contact with John, nodded a brief hello, and edged over to sit on his own bed.  
He was just sitting there. He bounced up and down a bit, but he was just sitting there, one hand concealing something behind his back, gaze never landing on one place for more than two seconds.  
John couldn’t deal with him like this. He was just sending out tense vibes.  
"What is it?" he snapped.  
Keith looked guilty. “Wot’s wot?” he said.  
"Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be blowing up toilets or something?" John waved the cigarette when he talked, gesturing, and it made little trails of smoke in the air.  
Keith stared at the smoke trails instead of at John. He shrugged.  
It wasn’t like him to be this quiet. “What’s the matter?” John asked him.  
"Nothin’. Just thinking."  
"Well, okay." said John. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the little television.  
"Um…" Keith fidgeted awkwardly. "Um, Jun?"  
"Yes, Moonie?" John tried to keep the impatience from his voice.  
"Jun, I have something for you."  
"What?" It was probably a dead frog Keith had found or something stupid like that, John thought. Dunno why he’s acting so strange, though.  
"Uh…close your eyes and hold out your hands." Keith’s voice sounded high and childish.  
"This better not be something gross." John said.  
"It’s not!" Keith whined. "Just do it!"  
"Fine!" If John lucked out it might be coke or pills Keith wanted someone to share with. He squinched his eyelids shut, making a face, and reluctantly held out his big hands.  
He heard Keith sneak up over the creaking floorboards and felt him place something in his hands, then curl his fingers around whatever it was. It felt long and thin and spiky.  
"Open ‘em up." Keith whispered.  
John did so. In his hand he held six black roses.  
"Keith…"  
Keith searched for emotion in John’s eyes and couldn’t find any. “D’you like it?” His eyes were huge and hopeful.  
John stared down at the roses. His eyes were misting up a bit.  
"Gosh, Keith." he murmured.  
"Do you??" Keith appeared to be in agony.  
"Do I…Yes, Keith, of course I do." His voice trembled a bit. "I love ‘em."  
Gratification surged into Keith’s expression, and so did quite a bit of blushing. “Thanks. I was gonna go for red, but then I thought you might want somethin’ a bit…different, yunno.”  
"Yes. Thank you." John couldn’t find the right words, because this showed so much more than what was on the surface. The roses were a peace offering.  
Keith fidgeted some more. “John, I’ve just wanted to tell you something. I feel like you don’t really, like, like me any more. And I want you to like me. ‘Cos I like you. A lot.” He swallowed nervously; John watched his barely protruding Adam’s apple jump. “And I don’t wanna lose our…us being together, because it was great. So I’m asking you if we can be friends again, at least, or, uh, whatever you want.”  
John still couldn’t find words. Keith acted very emotional, but a lot of the time it was just a show, and there were currents of ridiculously strong love and anger and jealousy and need just under his surface. John could usually read his hidden emotions fairly well, but he’d never really bared himself completely. Until now.  
A little tear ran down from John’s eye and lingered on his cheek. He wiped it off.  
"John?" Keith was distraught. "Is it okay? D-d’you want me to leave?"  
"Fuck…"  
Keith was scooped up into a huge tight hug, swept off his feet into John’s muscled arms. John buried his face in Keith’s neck and let a few more tears fall onto his warm skin. They gently swayed back and forth. John showed no sign of letting Keith go any time soon, so Keith wrapped his arms around John’s slim waist and hugged him back.  
They stood still as statues for a while, just feeling how good the touch was and breathing in each other’s scent. Keith trembled a bit and John held him.  
They finally let go of each other. Keith was crying, but he had a huge gap-toothed smile. The flowers were a bit squished, but that was alright.  
"Jun," Keith purred. "I missed you."  
"I missed you too." John kissed the tip of Keith’s nose.  
"God. I never want to leave you again, I never want you to leave."  
"I love you."  
Keith stood on tiptoes to return the nose-kiss. “You know I love you too.” he whispered.  
John put the roses in a vase and they decided to stay in tonight. They ate food from the vending machines and watched a bad movie, making fun of it, while slowly drinking up a couple bottles of wine and sharing a toke.  
Keith fell asleep beside John in the twin bed around 2 AM. John lay beside him for a while, at peace. He eventually went to take a shower.  
He stayed in the shower for a good twenty minutes, then toweled off, pot smoke and steam mixing in a warm haze around his dripping wet body. He wiped the mirror off and examined himself in it. He’d always liked looking at himself. Maybe it was narcissistic, but oh well…The thought reminded of him of a Tommy lyric which instantly got stuck in his head.  
He bared his teeth at his reflection and then stretched his arms to clasp his hands behind his head. He decided that he had nice abs but that he was looking a bit pudgy.  
"You look fat," he told his reflection.  
"Go to bed," he replied to himself.  
"Okay," he said.  
He found this funny and started giggling. He did go to bed, wrapping his naked and still damp body in the sheets, high enough to be comfortable eschewing pajamas.  
Before he slept, he thought about Keith. He didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, letting the man back into his heart.  
Well, it felt right.  
And he honestly didn’t know how much longer he could’ve gone on without Keith. They’d had a connection since the start.  
Satisfied with this philosophy, John rolled over and went to sleep.  
—-  
John knocked on the front door of Keith’s apartment. There was a loud scuffle of someone falling over, then the door slowly swung open. Keith had tripped over a cat in his hurry to let John in.  
John came in and pulled Keith to his feet. Keith gave him a hug and kicked the door shut.  
"Hello!" Keith chirped.  
"Hi." John kissed Keith. "I brought ya something."  
"Ooo, what?? Lemme see!"  
John held up a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates. He grinned.  
"Aw, Junny, you’re so sweet!" Keith said. "Is it our anniversary or something? Please tell me I didn’t forget."  
"No, Moonie." said John. "I just felt like getting ya something. Since you’re such a nice b-boyfriend."  
Keith had started using the B-word a week or two ago. He did it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but the word still got stuck in John’s throat.  
"Oh, you’re so nice. C’mere, you little shit." Keith gave John a long, passionate, eyes-closed kiss.  
"Hey, I’m taller than you." John replied.  
"You tall shit." Keith booped his nose to John’s.  
"So, what d’you want to do?" said John.  
"I dunno. I rented a bunch of Monty Python films, wanna watch?"  
"Definitely." John said.  
They cuddled together on the couch. Keith was in a lovey-dovey mood. He kept kissing John, who didn’t mind at all.  
"Feels funny, kissing a guy with a beard." John said as the beginning credits began to flash across the screen. "Tickles a bit."  
"Now you know how I feel!" Keith grinned. "But honestly, d’you like it?"  
John considered, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s a good beard. But I like you without it too.”  
"You’re so nice it’s disgusting."  
"You’re disgusting."  
They watched the movie together. John poured them both champagne and listened to Keith’s laugh. God, it was adorable, even though he made the most ridiculous snorting guffawing noises. When Keith finished his champagne John filled his glass back up.  
"You’re trying to get me drunk so ya can sleep with me, aren’t you?" Keith grinned.  
"Maybe." said John.  
"That’s unlawful, yunno."  
"I can’t help it. You’re irresistible."  
Keith laughed and turned his attention back to the movie, but John really meant it. He watched the oblivious Keith, playing with a strand of his messy hair.  
Keith yawned loudly. John was sitting on the couch sideways, his back against the arm of the couch and his legs sprawled over the cushions. Keith crawled up to lie in between his legs, using his chest as a pillow.  
"More champagne, if you please." Keith said in a prissy upper-class accent.  
"Certainly, dear boy." John mimicked Keith and poured him more bubbly.  
Keith took a drink and cuddled even deeper into John, wrapping his arms around his neck. He kissed John and let out a tiny moan. John kissed him back, slowly, lazily.  
Keith moved up and straddled John’s hips. He finished his champagne, then grabbed the bottle to just drink out of that.  
"It’s been a while since we’ve, uh, *been* together, hasn’t it?" John said, staring at the erection that was clearly visible through Keith’s jeans.  
"Much too long." Keith kissed John viciously, spilling champagne on the carpet by accident.  
"Oh, Keith." John breathed.  
Keith unbuttoned John’s shirt and kissed his chest. John tried to watch the movie, but found it impossible to concentrate, as Keith rasped his pink little tongue over the bassist’s chest and across his nipple, over and over again.  
One of the drummer’s hands crept down to the bulge in John’s trousers and massaged it. John gasped.  
"Ever the subtle one, aren’t we, Moonie?" he panted.  
Keith struggled with John’s fly. “I get wot I want.” He finally managed to unzip John’s trousers, and with a triumphant look pulled the bassist’s erection out. He slowly rubbed it, teasing his fingers over the sensitive slit.  
"Fuck…" John moaned. Keith grinned at his reaction. He moved down and started placing kisses on the other man’s cock.  
As one of the Pythons rambled on about the velocity of an unladen swallow, John felt his hardness slide between Keith’s delicate lips and into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. His eyes fell shut as Keith worked magic with his tongue and lips and fingers. He thrust uncontrollably into the drummer’s mouth, gasping out incoherent oaths. Keith gagged on John’s length, but he enjoyed it anyway, bobbing his head up and down to please John.  
"Fuck, Keith." John groaned. His face was flushed and sweat had started dripping down his chest. "C’mere. I wanna…"  
Keith crawled back up and looked satisfied at how desperate he’d gotten John. “Wanna what, Enty dear?”  
"I…oh, Keith…" Keith had started jerking John off again, making him tremble and groan.  
"Tell me what you’re gonna do to me." Keith’s voice went incredibly husky and sexy, and he leaned forward to kiss John, who suddenly became aware that Keith’s ass was right over his cock.  
"I’m gonna f-fuck you so hard, make you scream—ah!" John let out a yelp himself as Keith squeezed his balls. "Make you cum…oh Keith please," he added when the drummer swirled his fingertips around the head of his cock.  
"I like that, John." Keith murmured.  
"Take—oh fuck that feels good!—take your clothes off please," John gasped.  
"Yes, Johnny."  
Keith peeled his T-shirt off and flung it on the ground. He got up and began to struggle with his belt buckle. “Fuck, I’m no good with these when I’m drunk,” he complained.  
John watched him. It crossed his mind that Keith had put on a bit of weight. Probably all the drinking. Oh well, John sure didn’t mind. Keith would always look attractive to him.  
As Keith struggled and cursed at the belt buckle, John reached out and trailed a finger down Keith’s hip.  
"Huh?" Keith said.  
"You look good, Moonie."  
"Oh, Johnnnn!" Keith batted at John’s hand.  
"Lemme help you." John undid Keith’s belt and roughly yanked the jeans and underpants down. He took Keith’s cock in one hand and fondled the full roundness of the drummer’s arse with the other.  
Keith jumped back into John’s lap and immediately started grinding their erections together. John moaned when Keith wrapped his hands around both their shafts and gently stroked up and down.  
"I want you inside me, John." Keith whispered.  
John grabbed Keith’s ass, then slowly teased down to his opening. He gently pushed one thick finger inside and Keith moaned and stopped moving immediately. “Jun!”  
"You like it, baby?"  
"Y-yes, Johnny." Keith shifted around and let out a little whine.  
"You wanna be mine?" John slid his finger in further and crooked it a bit.  
"Yes please." Keith gasped.  
John found the lube and poured a copious amount onto his fingers, then pushed his index and middle finger into Keith and scissored them. Keith twitched and moaned, his hands clutching at John’s shirt. John began pumping his fingers in and out. Keith nearly screamed.  
"Please, please," he began panting.  
John covered his own erection with lube and then put both his hands on Keith’s hips to pull him in closer. Ever so slowly, he lowered Keith onto his cock. Keith’s hands pulled at his own hair. His back arched and his eyes nearly crossed at the feeling.  
"Like that?" John asked.  
"Yes, oh god yes!" the drummer gasped. He was overwhelmed by the sensation of John inside him. His eyes were closed and he was barely breathing, as if afraid of ruining the moment by blowing it away like a house of cards.  
John stretched out and dug his fingernails into Keith’s hips. Keith was still so tight around him. He slowly began moving inside the younger man, making him moan.  
It was almost painful for Keith at first, but he quickly adjusted to John’s rhythm and he began riding the bassist’s cock. It hit Keith’s prostate, suddenly and hard, and he panted with pleasure.  
John closed his eyes and enjoyed Keith moving on top of him. His breathing deepened and quickened.  
They were pretty quiet for a while. Then John moaned, “Fuck, Keith, you’re so tight.”  
Keith grinned and kissed him. John’s hands reached down and grabbed Keith’s ass, thrusting up into the slick warmth.  
"Oh, John, please!"  
John bit down on Keith’s shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise the skin.  
"Owie! Wot you doing?" Keith whined.  
"Marking my territory." John bit down again, harder.  
Keith laughed. “John! You little cunt!”  
"Again, I’m taller than you." John cupped Keith’s face and kissed him.  
Keith groaned. “J-Jun, can you get on top? I don’t think I can…”  
"Yeah, Moonie."  
John lifted Keith up and laid him down on his back on the couch. He positioned himself and slid quickly back into Keith, not wanting to break the spell of ecstasy that bound them both.  
"Fuck." John grunted.  
Keith knew that John liked to be in control. He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and urged him deeper in. “Harder, Junny!”  
"Mm, you little slut." John growled. He pinned Keith down and gave him everything. He was smashing into him so hard and fast that it was almost painful, but the contact with Keith’s prostate and the way Keith’s cock was rubbing against John’s belly brought it around to absolute pleasure. Keith nearly screamed, it felt so good.  
They both knew they were going to come before very long, so John forced himself to slow down a bit after a couple minutes. Keith thought it felt amazing, hot hardness filling him up nearly to exploding and then emptying and ramming back in again.  
John loved the faces Keith was making—he looked adorable and still somehow sexy. He bent to ravish his lips, biting them till they bled.  
"God." Keith moaned. "You’re so big…Why’d we ever stop doing this?"  
"I dunno. ‘Cos I’m an idiot." said John.  
"Well, whatever it was, I love you." Keith reached up to kiss John’s cheek, a quick chaste kiss that made John smile.  
John reached down to wrap a hand around Keith’s arousal. Keith was a mess, splayed out on the couch and surrounded by hot pleasure. John liked him like that.  
John usually wasn’t really vocal during sex, but soon he was moaning Keith’s name out, panting and cursing. He lost his rhythm, fucking Keith’s tight little hole hard and desperate, impaling him as his orgasm approached. John’s newfound want made Keith suddenly start teetering over the edge.  
"John," he whispered, the need in his voice making his wish apparent.  
"Keith." John replied.  
He closed his eyes and finished Keith off with a few quick deep thrusts. Keith’s orgasm overcame him and he let out high-pitched little gasping moans as it crashed over him, wringing out every nerve in his body. His come spurted over John’s taut stomach and chest and he helplessly squealed as he spasmed around John’s thick length.  
A couple more minutes of it and John was done too. He bit his lip, cried out Keith’s name, and his come filled Keith up with warmth. His movements twitched and stiffened and slowly came to a halt, John collapsing on Keith, smearing stickiness between their bellies.  
"Oh, Jun." Keith whispered.  
"That was so good. I love you."  
They kissed, exhausted. They moved into a spooning position, Keith’s back curled against John’s front.  
Keith began drifting into sleep. John went to get up and put his clothes on.  
"Don’t leave, John." Big brown eyes. "Stay here, we can cuddle!"  
He was irresistible. As usual.  
John moved back and cradled Keith’s warm body, playing with his hair as they both grew very drowsy, for a very very long time.  
—-  
John walked to his car. His eyes stared down at the gravel that was crunching under his heeled boots. He was in shock, his eyes glazed over.  
The sky was blue and the sun beat down on his head and black-clad shoulders. It was hardly appropriate weather for a funeral.  
John got into the car and shut the door behind him. He sat at the wheel for a while, staring blankly into the blue ocean of the sky above and thinking.  
Despite his love of all things morbid, he’d never liked funerals. He hated the thought of people he hardly knew gathering around the body of someone whom he’d been friends with, all murmuring stupid things like “Oh, he was such a nice boy, shame he was taken so soon.” It seemed disrespectful, somehow.  
This funeral had been no different. There’d been too many people there. But there was one conspicuous absence: Kim Kerrigan had stayed home.  
John didn’t think Keith would’ve liked the funeral at all. He wouldn’t have wanted still people in black with hushed voices. He would’ve wanted something to remember.  
Oh, well, at least it was over.  
He remembered—in fact, he didn’t think he’d ever forget—when he’d gone up to the…he supposed it was called a casket, although thinking the word made him cringe, and looked inside. He’d been unable to look away, transfixed.  
That…that *thing* (he couldn’t bring himself to consciously think the word “body”) wasn’t Keith. He didn’t know who it was, but he knew it couldn’t be Keith. It was pale and plastic-looking and oh so still. Keith could never be that still. That couldn’t be him. Could it?  
John had leaned forward and looked closer, his eyes wide. Dark lashes rested upon pale cheeks. The tiny, exquisite lips were closed, which was unusual in itself, but John had that horrible knowledge that they’d never open again.  
John remembered being told earlier that the—the *thing* was going to be cremated. At the time, he’d thought that this was horrible. Burning what was left over of the corporeal body, destroying it, that couldn’t be good.  
But now he wanted that to happen, desperately. The…thing in the casket was a hideous parody of life and he wanted to kill it. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, still.  
God, he thought numbly over and over again. God.  
He had six black roses. He reached out a shaky hand and placed them on Keith’s chest, did his best to curl horribly cold, stiff little fingers around the stems.  
There. Now we’re even.  
He didn’t really believe in a god, but he closed his eyes and tried to pray anyway, for the first time in his adult life. It felt terribly insincere. In the end, he just averted his eyes and wished Keith well on wherever he was headed. He was finally able to push himself away.  
He’d seen Pete at the funeral. He was sullen and angry and his lips were locked tight shut (also unusual). Their gazes had met across the crowded room. Each had noticed that the other’s eyes were completely dry, and each thought to himself, “What a fuckin’ bastard.”  
John hadn’t been able to cry. He didn’t know why.  
But now he could. He rested his head on his hands and hot tears slowly trickled out between his fingers and down his sleeves. He sobbed and retched a bit but he was mostly quiet.  
I want you back. I’m a selfish bastard and I need you back. You’re mine.  
How could you do this to yourself? How could you do this to me?  
His quiet crying turned into full-out uncontrollable weeping.  
At the funeral, he’d heard someone behind him murmur “Black roses? What kind of sick fuck chose those?”  
He’d recognized Pete’s voice. Oh well. Pete would never understand. Maybe it was insensitive and stupid, but Pete didn’t realize that John was paying Keith back.  
Every joke and whine and laugh and sweet, desperate moan that Keith had ever made played on repeat in John’s head.  
I miss you already.  
For all Keith’s begging John not to leave, he’d been the one to leave in the end.  
Ironic.


End file.
